


He Loves Me

by rxcrcfllptrs



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Sex, Getting Together, Insecure Tony Stark, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: Steve lifts Tony up, off to a relatively clean side of the bed. He removes the destroyed sheets, replaces them with new ones.I love him, Tony thinks.A soft rag presses cold on his skin, he shivers at first contact but it’s welcome respite.I love him, Tony thinks.He feels the sweat and come being swept up and away, leaving a feeling of clean and comfort.I love him, Tony thinks.After everything’s said and done, Steve moves Tony back to the center of the bed, lies down beside him. Instinctual, like second nature, Tony turns on his side to face him, eyes crinkling as he reaches out to Steve, presses them together with a hand on the small of Steve’s back.I love him, Steve thinks.





	He Loves Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is the first smut I've written in about five years. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I loved writing it.

Tony pulls Steve in from the hallway, a whoosh of air into the room, door locking behind them with a quiet ‘click’.

In a dizzying rush, it’s Steve who makes the first move. Crashes his lips against Tony’s, pressing Tony’s back to the door. Steve wastes no time grinding against Tony’s half-hard cock through his pants, swallowing the noises from Tony’s mouth. His hold is so strong, almost sealing them together, Tony’s sure he’s going to come away bruised. Not that he minds, not when he gets all this in return.

Steve towers over him. He’s leaning over Tony now, a hand against the door to keep him—them both, really—steady. In a flash of an idea, Steve lifts Tony up, palms on the back of his legs, just below his ass.

The sudden hitch separates them, allowing them one good look at their partner: pupils dilated, lips shiny and swollen. Tony’s never seen the Captain so wild-eyed, unkempt and wanting before, preening internally that he’s the one who caused such a ruffling in the first place.

He instinctively wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and arms around his—broad, broad, broad—shoulders and then moving back to kiss. He can feel Steve’s clothed erection press against his, especially as Steve moves his hands up to Tony’s ass, giving his cheeks a good squeeze. It’s too much, it’s everything he’s ever wanted and dreamed of.

But god, Tony wants _more_.

Insistent, he grinds his hips just to get some more friction, to stoke the fires running through him. But Steve stills him, hand a tight band of steel on his thigh. And _fuck_ if that doesn’t make him feel all sorts of things, this superhuman who can fell helicopters steadying him. Enough to stop him from moving, teetering on the edge of a force that could easily crush him in two.

“Let’s, let’s—“ Steve gasps out, taking every ounce of willpower to part so they can move to the bed.

Completely unlike the whirlwind, Steve sets Tony gently on the bed, pulling away to rifle the side table for condoms and lube. He makes an impatient noise, coupled with Tony’s own whines, before he manages to find a foil square and a tube. “Sorry, sorry,” he stumbles over himself, returning to Tony pouting up a storm. He’s faced off against countless foes, countless evils, and it’s here that he panics. Just his luck, really.

“Ditch this,” Tony reaches over and plucks the condom off Steve’s hand and chucks it off to the side. “You’re a supersoldier,” he pants. “I’m clean, and I’ve been waiting far too _fucking_ long to watch you fumble through this right now, Rogers.” And he really, really has, considering the rumpled state of his clothes, eager hands reaching up with the intent to tear through Steve’s shirt.

“Impatient,” he teases, pulling his shirt up and over and letting Tony’s roaming hands get lay of the land. Every touch and every stroke is electric, prowling, anticipatory. “You could stand to wait a little,” Steve says this as his hands make work of Tony’s sweats, sliding them right off, revealing long sun-kissed legs.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Tony surges forward, palming Steve’s crotch. “I can certainly find it here,” he flashes a grin, especially when the contact makes Steve growl, low and rumbling and possessive. Oh, oh, Tony likes that. He likes that _very_ much.

Steve puts a palm on Tony’s bare chest, pushing him to the bed with an ‘oof’. And Tony can only oblige, leaning back and spreading his legs wide, wide enough for the taking. Steve groans, sees Tony’s tight hole and the realization slams into him. This is real, this is happening, they're really doing this.

He uncaps the tube and lubes up two fingers, nice and slick before bringing it up to Tony’s hole. Circling it, teasing, spreading the lube around before slowly pushing the tip of one finger in, working Tony open.

Tony is no virgin by any means, but Steve feels _huge_ even just from his finger. He can’t help his reactions, his groans and whines, a war within him as his body wants to shove it out and mind wanting to take it all in. Take and take and take, all of this man into his mind and body until Steve can carve out a space for himself. In Tony. Ideally right now.

_Ideally for the rest of my life_, some corner of his brain pipes up, far away behind a layer of cotton.

It-it’s… everything feels strange, he’s taking rather than giving for the first time in a long while. It burns, and he’s not sure if it’s from the penetration or from the emotions running through him. But most importantly, it’s taking _forever_.

“C’mon,” Tony urges. “I can take more than that.” He can, he has, he _will_, brown eyes lit with determination and need.

And then Steve actually puts another finger in and Tony’s brain slams the breaks, the push and the pull against his walls as the digits make their way in, relentless and unyielding. He’s never been particularly sensitive to anal stimulation, but his body might make an exception for the exceptional man working him open, cock hard and leaking from Steve’s ministrations.

Steve scissors his fingers and Tony loses himself in the sensation, mouth falling open. Steve’s been split on his concentration, half on Tony’s face and half on his ass, but he has a boyish half-grin when he looks up. “Good?” he asks, moving his fingers around just to see that reaction again.

“G-get on with it,” Tony says—begs, really—a hand blindly whipping out and latching on Steve’s free wrist. “Need you,” his hand travels higher, up to Steve’s bicep and holding on tightly. “Need you in me, _now_.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve says breathlessly, pushing his fingers out then in one last time before withdrawing completely. Tony only just about stops the whine that bubbles up his throat, the protest at the emptiness, before Steve’s pressing the head of his cock against his hole.

God. _God._ He’s _huge_.

A frantic, panicking part of his mind whispers its prayers, glad for all the lube and wonders if he’s been prepared enough. If he’ll ever be prepared to take Steve on. If he dies today, then hell, it sure is a hell of a way to go: split open by Captain America’s cock.

An even louder part of him is screaming in rapture, fucking _finally_. Doesn’t care if he isn’t worked open well enough, doesn’t care if he’ll be split in two. This is _happening_ and Tony wants it to happen for-fucking-ever.

“St-Steve,” Tony grits out, his hand on the bicep tightening again. “Come _on_.”

“Tony,” Steve breathes out his name, like a lifeline, like a prayer, like a person coming undone.

His touch is gentle but he pushes in with a grunt. The pressure is inescapable, burn eased by the lube, but the sheer girth is pricking pain and pleasure in waves up Tony’s spine.

Steve’s no shrinking violet, but this is Tony. This is the man he’s been holding a torch for, the man who’s been everything since the beginning. Some dark corner of his mind wants to go fast, go rough, to take Tony for all he’s worth, damn the consequences. But sweat drips down his brow, forcing himself to enter slowly, inch by sluggish inch despite Tony’s own begging, despite the nails now insistently scratching his back up.

He doesn’t want to hurt Tony, not now, not ever again.

“Oh god, oh _god_—“ Tony starts choking out halfway through, so desperate and needy that Steve stops. He doesn’t realize he’s been panting, sweating the entire time.

“Tony?” he asks, every muscle tense because he wants to keep going, every cell in his body wanting to meld together with Tony’s. In pleasure, in life, in love, in everything. But, but- if Tony’s hurt, he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

“F-feels good,” Tony stammers out, breathing shallow to compensate for the huge, _huge_ intrusion in him. His hands scramble for the sheets, twisting them in his fists for purchase. God, and is Steve only just halfway in? Fuck, fuck, fuck— “Why’d you-why’d you stop?”

“Thought, thought you were hurt,” Steve grits his teeth, hands on Tony’s waist. He’s so, _so_ tense, fighting against the strength that could snap Tony in two.

“‘m not, so please,” Tony looks at Steve in the eye, brown eyes glistening with unshed tears, with adoration, with love and lust and every emotion he’s ever felt for the man. “_Get on with it._”

Then Steve pushes in harder, slowing down only as he works Tony down his length. Fuck, Tony’s so warm and tight and amazing, taking him all in like he’s made for it. Like he’s made for him. He’s eyeing the join where they meet, where Steve is entering Tony, with Tony’s little whines and moans keeping his pace.

He paces and paces, distance closing in, until, until the gap disappears. Until Steve’s balls are flush against Tony’s ass and the blood roaring in his ears silence. Until all he can hear is his own heavy breathing, Tony’s shallower ones.

The world is silent and there is nothing else but this. Nothing else but them and the space in-between.

Their eyes meet, Steve bowing forward so their faces are close. “Tony…” he says, reverent and awe evident, a hand reaching to wipe the tears spilling down Tony’s cheeks. “You’re incredible.”

And Tony doesn’t know what to do with that, doesn’t know what to do with the crashing waves of emotion welling up within him. Steve’s _in_ him, wedged inside like he’s never going to leave. Doesn’t want him to leave. “I-I- give me a moment,” he pants.

Tony’s hands reach up from the bed to rest on Steve’s face. Feels a whole lot like _Creation of Adam_, of an imperfect man like Tony reaching to absolute perfection. The blinding light of revelation crumbling away the folly of man. But unlike Adam, unlike everything in this damned Earth, he gets to reach out and _touch_. To touch perfection he thought out of reach.

And that’s—that’s worth _everything_.

He surges up and presses their lips together, not ready to move, not ready to move because then it’ll be finished and it’ll be over. And some hysterical part of Tony’s mind isn’t convinced that Steve will stay. That this was a fluke, a glitch in the Matrix where Tony gets what he wants but just once. But, but it’d be better to have it even just once rather than not at all. Right?

Their lips part, and Steve pants out, “you’re—I can hear you thinking too hard.”

The man sees right through him, blue eyes dark and hazy and that uptick of a grin on the side of Steve’s mouth again. “Can we—can I move?” He grunts, grinding in just a little, insistent but not taking. “If you’re thinkin’, means I’m not trying hard enough,” he teases, but an edge of that uncertainty skates through it anyway.

“No, you’re—“ Tony starts, stilling Steve’s movements. _No, that’s the opposite of what I—_ “You’re perfect, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” it spills out of him, like it’s being pushed out and he can’t keep them inside and he doesn’t want to. He takes a gulp of air, settles back but leaves his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “You can-you can move.”

And Steve doesn’t even ask if he’s sure, Tony’s not the only one who’s been waiting, but he’s still gentle. Still slow as he eases his cock out, feeling every torturous inch he put in, until it’s just the head against the rim. And then, and then.

Steve pushes in his entire length in one smooth thrust, pushing out all the air from Tony’s lungs. Tony’s mouth falls open, eyes unseeing as Steve works his thrusts up to faster and faster paces. One hand on Steve’s shoulder clenches, so tight it might hurt had Steve been anything but more than human, the other falls as it fists the sheets between his fingers.

Tony loses himself to the push and pull, the pressure and friction as Steve pistons in and out of him. Might be leaving finger shaped bruises on his hips, feeling owned and claimed by someone he thought he could never—not in his wildest _dreams_—

“Tony, I—“ Steve stutters, a hand moving from his waist to his thigh. “‘m close,” and Steve’s hand creeps up, warm and wide and the thrust slows and he’s moving, moving to—

With some surge of strength that came from god-knows-where, Tony crosses his legs, up and crossing them around Steve’s waist. “No,” Tony shakes his head, desperate. If he only has this once, he wants it all the way. “In me,” he says, insistent and whimpering. “Please.”

And Steve, Steve honest to god _chuckles_ at his plight. “No, Tony, I—“ he shakes his head, instead choosing to show what he means, the hand on his thigh skipping introductions and circles around his neglected cock. “Want you to come ‘fore me,” he explains, smile dazzling and bright like he’s the sun and Tony is far, far gone for this man.

“Oh,” Tony says, small and stuck in the back of his throat. “Okay, can do,” he weakly nods with a groan, arching into Steve’s touch.

Each stroke is smooth and long and gentle and incredible, right in time with his thrusts. In and out, in and out, and Tony tips right over the edge of forever.

He screams as he comes, comes in a fervor he hasn’t seen since his twenties, over his stomach, onto Steve’s chest. The heat within him dissipates to embers with every stroke that Steve eases him out with, even after he’s emptied out. He’s soft, but the low heat remains, stoking a fire and easing him into the sensations of too much.

“Okay,” Steve says with a harsh breath, and god, did he even come yet? And Steve shakes his head, which means Tony said that out loud. He’s too spent and too enveloped in the afterglow to care. “Wanted to make you come first,” he pants out, moving to put a palm flat on the bed, one on Tony’s waist. “Want to make you feel good.”

_So stay_, Tony thinks. _Stay here with me forever_. And he’s so sure he doesn’t say that out loud, cheeks wet with renewed tears because even when he’s sated, he wants. He wants and needs. Steve’s picking up his pace again.

This time there’s no warm-up, no preparation as Steve takes, focuses on his own pleasure. For these moments, Tony feels used. Almost rightfully so. He wants to be, almost afraid of how much he wants to be taken. He’s overstimulated, strung tight as Steve lights a fire underneath his skin. Tony closes his eyes, focuses on the heat and the place where they join, where Steve is using him for his own pleasure. Takes a mental snapshot of the scene, wishes he can keep it forever.

Then Steve is tensing up, arms tight and Tony’s sure something rips and Steve is coming. Steve’s coming in him in what feels like waves, almost too much for his overheating insides. Steve is so big, so big that all that come might be leaking out because there’s no space left. It lasts and lasts and lasts, goes on and on in their small space of forever.

He finishes with an exhale, the world stills. There’s nothing else but them.

Tony melts into the bed, overheated and boneless as Steve pulls out. He doesn’t have the energy to complain, to keep him in, the world flitting in and out. He can hear the tap running, turning off. He feels. He feels divine, _I love him_ pulsating in waves throughout his entire being.

Steve lifts him up, off to a relatively clean side of the bed. He removes the destroyed sheets, replaces them with new ones. _I love him_, Tony thinks.

A soft rag presses cold on his skin, he shivers at first contact but it’s welcome respite. _I love him_, Tony thinks.

He feels the sweat and come being swept up and away, leaving a feeling of clean and comfort. _I love him_, Tony thinks.

After everything’s said and done, Steve moves Tony back to the center of the bed, lies down beside him. Instinctual, like second nature, Tony turns on his side to face him, eyes crinkling as he reaches out to Steve, presses them together with a hand on the small of Steve’s back. _I love him_, Steve thinks.

Tony looks, Tony stares, Tony hopes and Tony wishes. That Steve will stay, that this isn’t just some one-night fling. He loves him, even if it was. Even if he does just take, even if he does leave him in the morning. Steve’s too good for him, and he knows this, knows this like he breathes. But he loves Steve, knows that as a fact of his existence.

Steve is everything. Steve is leaning his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, at the join where it meets his shoulder. He wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, strong and unyielding and protective. Steve noses a spot before pressing a warm kiss there, tender and so unlike what Tony’s always known. A tear escapes Tony’s eye, as he buries his face in Steve’s hair.

He can have this. He can have this.

* * *

When Tony wakes, Steve isn’t there.

He twists his head this way and that, looking for a blond head of hair in the room, by his walk-in, in the bathroom. Not there.

“So that’s it,” he breathes out. The dream is over, he supposes. He stares up, searching for patterns in the stippled ceiling and breathes. So that’s it. That’s all there is to it. Fantastic while it lasted, but it cuts deep now, now that he actually did take and did leave. “Time, J?”

“The time is 7:12 AM,” JARVIS announces. At least there’s someone here who will stay, has stayed. “Might I suggest getting breakfast from the communal kitchens, sir?”

Tony rolls over, groans in protest as twinges of pain shoot up his back, up his spine. _Too old for this_, he thinks, palming his face before standing and surveying the room.

There’s still clothes strewn on the floor, haphazardly discarded from the excitement of the previous night. He should really just go to his walk-in and get fresh ones, but that insistent twinge doesn’t let up when he’s picking clothes up off the floor. At least his boxers and sweats fit him, but the only top on the floor is an oversized shirt. Too big for him, definitely not his shirt.

He stares at the cornflower blue shirt, wars with himself whether to keep up with the illusion just a little while longer or to push through the pain and just get a new shirt. In the end, his neediness wins out and he shrugs it on. Ignores the slashing in his chest as he breathes in Steve’s scent.

Tony limps to the elevators, trying to get used to the pain until his gait is as normal as he can get it to be.

He's bleary-eyed and hair-mussed when he walks to the communal floor, padding into the kitchen.

Where Steve is cooking breakfast.

Where Steve is wearing an obscenely tight tank top that _definitely_ does not belong to him.

Distantly, Tony knows Clint just choked on his coffee, perhaps caused in part by Natasha elbowing him hard in the stomach. Tony shoots Natasha a grateful quirk of the brow, only to have her smirk in return and he knows he owes her for that one later. The commotion catches Steve’s attention, turning around and seeing Tony, eyes wide and… bashful? _That doesn’t add up_, Tony thinks.

“Oh, Tony!” Steve greets. “Good morning,” he hands him a mug of freshly brewed coffee, scent of heavenly ichor pepping Tony right up. Almost like the crisis Steve caused earlier didn’t happen, but only almost. “You’re up early,” Steve notes, pointing a spatula to the kitchen island. “Help yourself,” he urges, and so Tony does.

The communal kitchen empties out, leaving only him and Steve as he sits on the stool. There’s a spread of full breakfast on a tray: pancakes, cut up fruit, eggs cooked sunny side up, orange juice, and an extra spot, conveniently sized for a coffee mug.

“Any special occasion, Cap?” Tony asks, gesturing to the spread with his drink. “Don’t you normally just come back from jogging around this time?” Not that Tony keeps track of that or anything. Not at all.

Steve still has his back to Tony, but he shakes his head in reply. He turns around, holding a pan of freshly cooked bacon, the smell making Tony’s mouth water. How long has it been since he’s had a full breakfast? “I was hoping that we could have breakfast in bed.”

Tony’s brows shoot up, the pieces falling together. “Oh,” he chokes out. “I thought…”

“Thought?” Steve hums, sliding the bacon next to the eggs before putting the pan back on the range to cool. Tony notices then that there’s another tray across his own holding several wrapped sandwiches and a protein shake, Steve sliding onto the seat in front of that one.

“Thought you just left,” Tony admits quietly, eyes downcast. “That it was just a one night thing.”

Steve was moving to unwrap a sandwich when Tony says that. He hears Steve pause, stops crinkling the brown paper. “Did… did you want it to be a one night thing?”

Tony's eyes widen. God, the fact that he even _thought_— “No!” he shakes his head, denies it and will deny it vehemently to the grave. “No, no, I don’t want it to be a one night thing,” he spills out in confession. He’s too tired, too desperate to do anything but take the chance while he has it. “Wouldn’t think of it. Would only stop if you said no. I just thought…”

Realization dawns on Steve’s face, blue eyes wide. He puts down his meal and sets a hand on the table, reaching out for Tony’s own palms cradling his coffee mug. “Honey, no,” Tony’s heart flutters at the casual petname. “I left because I wanted to make us breakfast, so we could talk about this,” Steve gestures between them. “Figure out what we want, talk it over, make sure we’re on the same page.”

_Pick a page,_ Tony thinks helplessly. _I’m on it_.

“Oh,” he breathes out, reaching out to touch, moving his hand on top of Steve’s. “Okay. Sounds good.”

His eyes flicker to their hands, then to Steve’s face, who’s smiling like Tony just gave him the world. Like Steve didn't just give him everything he wanted.

The day is young and vibrant, and Tony feels a revelation swoop up his stomach, swirling around his heart beating a mile a minute. It’s adrenaline when he’s flying around as Iron Man, when he pulls off an impossible maneuver, saving hundreds with a close call on his own life, when Steve smiles and it’s genuine and it’s just for him. It’s everything he could’ve ever asked for and even more.

_He loves me_, Tony thinks. And the world stops, and there's nothing else but them.

**Author's Note:**

> The funny part is that I listened to nothing but Christmas music when I wrote this. The entire time. Yeah.
> 
> [Tumblr post](https://rxcrcfllptrs.tumblr.com/post/188057147709/he-loves-me-rxcrcfllptrs-marvel-cinematic).


End file.
